Page 52 of The Lady Tempts an Heir
“You have the police involved if needed. We cannot allow a strike. I’ll telegram Tilden and have him authorize the National Guard—”
“I will deal with it, Papa.” Max rose to his feet, his voice rising slightly along with him. “Not you. You are to heal and concentrate your efforts here. You left me in charge for a reason. Do not telegram Tilden.”
“I left you in charge because I trusted you to deal with things.”
“Then you must let me.”
“Then you’ll force down this so-called strike, thisattempt to organize against you in the very factory your own grandfather built from nothing?”
“It’s not a strike yet. I will do everything in my power to make certain it’s not elevated to such a crisis, but if it comes to it, I will defend our interests.”
Papa nodded and rose, much steadier on his feet after weeks of recovery than he had been when Max first arrived in London. “Good, make certain that you do. I’ll see you downstairs for dinner.”
Max let out a breath the moment his father left. It had become more apparent with every passing year how differently they each saw the direction of Crenshaw Iron. His father was a dictator who wanted to smite out any hint of insurrection at its first appearance. Max didn’t believe that an organization could survive for very long in the shadow of one man. An organization by its very definition became a sum of its parts with no one person able to claim sole responsibility for its success or failure.
Walking to the small bureau near the window, he poured himself a scotch and looked out at the gaslights lining the street as he took several calming breaths. Twilight was descending. He took a sip, savoring the smoky bite of the liquid as he swallowed. As often happened in his quiet moments, thoughts of Helena intruded. He could still feel the press of her soft body against him, and the sense of peace that came over him when he had her in his arms. If she were here now with a proper place in his life, she would spar with him over how to proceed with the threat facing Crenshaw Iron. She’d challenge him with the different way she considered things.
It was maddening that she was only a few streets over. The house party was in three days, which meant they had barely a week together.
Why was she so resolved to deny what was between them?
He walked over to the desk and picked up one of her cards from the stack on the corner. They were creamcolored and preprinted with her name on one side in an elegant typeface. On the other side she had perfunctorily writtenThank youand signed her name. He should consider himself lucky that she hadn’t sent the gifts back, but she was as committed to this ruse as he was, so perhaps that was why she kept them. It stung that she could so readily cast aside what they had found together.
The one thing he was understanding with more certainty every day was that he didn’t simply want another night or two with her. He wanted her and everything that came with her. He’d realized before that she was perfect for him, but after that night with her... There seemed to be no good reason why they shouldn’t make this courtship real. She could come to New York as his wife. There were people there who could use her help. She had admitted herself that she was lonely here. Her life was full, but it obviously wasn’t fulfilling. Not if she was lonesome. If they were together, then she would never be alone again. She’d spend her nights in his bed and her days any way she wished.
His wife. Once an idea that had seemed very far removed from where he was, now it felt right. He wanted Helena to be his wife.
•••
Max was on his way to Helena’s townhome almost before he realized he meant to go. It wasn’t the dinner hour yet, but it was outside regular calling hours. His visit wouldn’t be completely outside the realm of acceptable etiquette, not that he gave a damn about that except for how it would impact her reputation. But it was too early still to sneak in through her drawing room door, and he had to see her.
Huxley appeared startled when he opened the door to find Max standing there. “Mr. Crenshaw?”
“Is Lady Helena at home?” When there was a pause, Max added, “I understand this is highly irregular.”
“Apologies, sir, your attendance wasn’t expected.”
It was a strange statement, but he stepped back and allowed Max to enter. As soon as he was within the house, he could hear Helena’s voice along with several others coming from the room that faced the street. The door was closed, so he couldn’t make out what she was saying. Max had only ever seen the drawing room at the back of the house and had no idea what the front room was. He did, however, have the distinct feeling that he was interrupting. That perhaps he shouldn’t have been so quick to barge into her home.
“Huxley, I—” It was too late. The man was already swinging the door open.
The room was larger than her intimate drawing room and more formal. While decorated in the same apple greens, creams, and golds as the rest of her home, the gold won out here as the principal color. This was primarily accomplished with the gilded carving in the paneling on the walls and which encircled the edges of the ceiling. The massive mantelpiece was white but gilded with a whimsical display of gold leaves along the top, mirroring the flowers and leaves inscribed along the panels on the wall. Despite the abundance of gold, it was tastefully done so as not to be overpowering, with the delicate pieces of rosewood furniture upholstered in pale greens and creams placed strategically throughout the room. There were two groupings of settees and chairs with a round table covered in a tablecloth and set with a decadent spread of cakes, sandwiches, and pastries. Every available seat in the room was occupied by a woman, including both of his sisters. Every seat except for the one Helena had likely vacated.
Helena stood at the head of the room near the fireplace. She looked as surprised as he felt. She wore a two-piece walking dress in the new elongated-waist style that exhibited her shapely hips so well. It was a deep, rich blue that somehow perfectly matched her eyes and set off the pale beauty of her hair. She was so gorgeous that he lost his breath.
“Mr. Crenshaw! What a pleasant surprise. Helena, you didn’t tell us he was expected.” This was said by LadyBlaylock, a woman he vaguely remembered to be a lifelong friend of Helena’s mother, the one who had pulled her funding for Helena’s charity. She sat on one of the settees with another woman he didn’t recognize.
For a long and increasingly awkward moment, neither he nor Helena spoke. He hadn’t been expected, and it would be the height of impropriety to come visit after calling hours with so many guests aware of it.
“I wasn’t certain that I could come,” he finally hedged, having no idea what he walked into.
Regaining her composure, Helena gave him a strained smile as she walked over to greet him. “I am happy you’re here.” Despite the barely thwarted faux pas, there did seem to be a genuine glimmer of happiness in her eyes. “Sir Phineas was kind enough to invite some of his friends here to listen to me speak about the home we’re building.”
Max whipped his head in the direction she indicated. There Sir Phineas sat at the table laden with treats, cup of tea in hand and a broad smile on his face. Max had somehow missed him the first time. He seemed pleased to see Max, setting his tea down and standing to greet him. “You’re just in time,” the man said, retaking his seat. “Helena was about to go over her plans for the London Home.”
“Everyone, I would like to present Mr. Maxwell Crenshaw, a very dear friend,” she said to the room at large.
He greeted everyone, aware of a murmuring that was sweeping through the space.
